June 2013

June 28, 2013

After one IVF and two IUI's, both with maximum meds, I looked like a manatee. A manatee that accidentally swallowed a buoy. As much as I tried to give myself the benefit of the doubt--I had just been injecting crazy amount of hormones directly into my stomach--it was hard not to let that get to me. After a few weeks, the puffy look went down as I slowly inched back towards my normal weight, but the feeling of being bloated and heavy kind of lingers. I can't tell if it's in my mind or around my waist.

I still feel bigger, I am bigger, and it's just so unfair that not only did feel awful during all of this but I looked...not so good. (Notice how there is no video accompanying today's post? I'll spare everyone). I've tried not to be vain and have convinced myself it's ok not to look and feel my best during this time, but three years!? Enough already.

With all the yoga I'm doing I'm finally starting to feel strong again. I still have the layer of persistent chubs, but it's not about that. It's about feeling strong and solid and good. It's so hard to have a loving relationship with my body these days, but I'm trying, because it's important. Hopefully it will be a house to our baby soon, so I have to do my best to take good care of it and be kind to it. When I look in the mirror I have to remind myself that it is not a manatee starring back at me, but a determined mother-to-be who will go to any lengths, look like any sea creature, to try and make a baby.

June 27, 2013

Today is our five year wedding anniversary, and I woke up realizing we have spent three of those years dealing with infertility. It's the last thing we could have imagined on the day we said, "I do," and shoved cake into each others faces. Our in our case, cupcakes.

It feels so long ago. We had such different expectations of how our first five years of marriage was going to go, and yet we've learned more about what it means to be married--in the good times and bad. Our families also had such different expectations. After getting married, the next natural life milestone is a family. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage, right? Not for us. I remember how after being married for two years my dad kept asking where his grandchildren were. Now he knows. Hopefully, they are soon to be growing in a little dish in a lab in LA.

Now Noah and I take each day one step at a time. Social expectations and pressures don't mean anything to us anymore, because they can't. We just don't fit in. I guess in a way it's kind of freeing? I don't know. But today we celebrate our survival of this, and we both appreciate each others strength and determination more than ever. We recognize that every couple is on their own life path and that ours has its own twists and turns. We never thought we'd have to dodge bullets and lions and tigers and bears and landmines--but we have, and we can, and we will continue to do so together.

June 24, 2013

It's great to have a plan, because then you know where you're headed. But a plan for IVF or anything fertility related often takes a lot of time and preparation. I often feel like I'm in a holding pattern, a waiting room for when we can get started. When we first met with our doc in May 2012, before we could start our cycle I had to wait to see if I could get more follicles, then I had to wait for the follicles to be of similar size, then I had to wait for a cyst to go away. It was always something. We didn't start our first IVF attempt until November! And what I realize now in retrospect is that my life was about waiting. Waiting, worrying, planning. That's like seven months of "being in process" and it's an awful way to spend your life! I went to work and basically maintained as best I could, but I didn't make any forward moving progress, I just waited.

When our IVF cycle failed, I had all the sadness and disappointment that's to be expected, but I also felt really angry. I was angry that infertility had stolen my life and that I had wasted so much time and effort preparing for something that ended up a bust. I now realize I let infertility steal my life, because I didn't know what else to do. It's all consuming. It's emotionally exhausting. It's financially limiting. But...it doesn't have to be the only thing. It's a HUGE thing, and a thing that requires you to be kind and patient with yourself, but now that I'm gearing up to go through it again, I'm making sure that infertility isn't all I've got on my plate. It makes for really boring dinner conversation.

Even though dealing with infertility is always on the forefront of my brain, I've promised myself not to wait around counting the days until we get started. I know the days we have left, 25. Then I'll start Lupron and start praying. Until then I will focus on living life fully and presently. Doing yoga, making new friends, reading books that don't have the word "baby" in the title. Whatever it takes to help me feel like I'm not just crossing off days like my life is an advent calendar, because let me tell you, an IVF cycle ain't like Christmas!

June 21, 2013

It's amazing to think about how much Noah and I have learned. About the human reproductive system, about our bodies, about ourselves, our relationship--we both have Ph D's in the physical, emotional and relational science of assisted baby making. We may have done better with graphic design or computer science or something but here we are.

When we started this process we literally knew NOTHING. Well, we knew the basics. Now Noah and I can confidently identify all of my lady parts and know their function and what happens when they dysfunction. I'm sure this impresses all the guys when Noah goes out for boys night.

While I (and half a dozen doctors in the greater Los Angeles area) have gotten to know my body on an intuitive level, Noah too has gotten to understand me better, as well as himself. For a shy guy, infertility really cracks everything open. He is so much more comfortable with the weird and gross and private, and I think that's a good thing.

I remember the first time he had to give a "sample." He was mortified and embarrassed. There is something really shaming about the whole experience. Even though doing his thing into a plastic cup is something he has been preparing for his whole life, the emotional and mental aspects of it can be unsettling. But now it ain't no thang. This is what he has to do to help us making a family. And if he ever complains I just remind him of all I have to do and he quickly shuts up. He has the easy part.

This clip is from the very early morning of our aspiration where the doc was retrieving the eggs from the follicles. As you will see, even though we were very deep into the IVF process, I still had no idea what was where in my body. Sex ed class in high school failed me terribly, only teaching how NOT to get pregnant.

June 18, 2013

I've been seeing a lot of chatter in the on line infertility community about how to deal with pregnant friends, or how it feels to an infertile woman when another woman announces her pregnancy. For a long time I can honestly say it felt awful. I hated when other people got pregnant. I cried when friends happily announced their due date or the sex of their baby to be. It just upset me and made me angry. I was angry at the unfairness of the world, at my dysfunctional body, at my doctors, at the years we’ve spent in this purgatory, at other people for getting friggin’ pregnant! I felt like I should be consulted before anyone else could have a baby! It was completely selfish, crazy and illogical. I knew that. But sometimes you can't help how you feel.

With well over 50 friends/co-workers who have gotten pregnant or had babies in the time Noah and I have been trying, I realized the only person suffering was me. Carrying that anger and jealousy around can make you sick and miserable, and it did for a long time. We are so far deep into this mess now it almost just feels like we are on a completely different path. There is the simple road that leads to easy pregnancies, baby showers, and mass email baby announcements, and then there is the OTHER road. The road not taken by choice, but taken in hesitation at what feels like gunpoint.

What does anyone else’s life or situation have to do with me? So what if people have babies? Chances are thousands of babies are going to be born before ours is. Who cares? I ask myself these questions when those ugly thoughts and feelings start to bubble up again. I remind myself my baby is just taking his/her sweet time, and I try not to feel resentment that most of my pregnant friends completely avoid contact with me because they don't know how to be or what to say.

It's just a weird time right now. I know that I want to be an auntie to many of my friends babies, and I don't want to be the crazy, scary auntie. So I have to work on finding an outlet for my frustration and calling it what it is. I'm not mad at babies or at people for having them. I'm just frustrated at our situation and what we have to do to get what seems so easy for others.

No one promised me life was going to be fair or make sense. The best I can do is honor my feelings when they come up, and try to reason with them a bit.

June 17, 2013

Yesterday I asked Noah if he had any feelings about Father's Day. Every once in a while I like to check in with him about his feelings because a) 99% of the time it's about my feelings and I want him to have space (1% space) to express himself and b) I want to make sure he still has feelings. Mother's Day often brings up a lot of emotions for women going through infertility because it all just feels highly charged. I don't know if the same is true for men and Father's Day.

When a woman becomes a mother, she takes on a new identity. It can be scary and confusing and exciting all at the same time. Of course there are challenges and anxieties and changes and struggles and adjustments, but there is also a welcoming into a new club. A welcome that is celebrated as the mother-to-be is showered with gifts and well wishes. There are supports, other mothers to relate to, mommy and me classes, cute clothes to buy, positive attention, and an entire day designated to celebrate you. There are other mothers, including ones own, who help teach the new mom how to do things, like breastfeed or bathe her new baby. Becoming a mother is taking on a well sought after and socially acceptable/anticipated/celebrated/appreciated role.

Becoming a woman dealing with infertility comes with no bells or whistles. Not even a kazoo or tambourine. There is no “infertility day” to celebrate. Taking on the identity of an infertile woman is received with confusion by peers as many people try and avoid the conversation, or say useless comments about how “you’ll get through it” or “it will all work out in the end." The identity of an infertile woman is one that is forced upon you. No matter how much it’s rejected, it doesn’t go away. It has to be integrated into that person’s self in some form—be it anger, denial, depression, isolation, acceptance. Like the role of motherhood, the role of infertility has no escape. Unlike the role of motherhood, the infertile woman gets no party. There are no gifts, formal set up of support or classes that help you transition and come to terms with this new identity. Not even your own mother knows what to say or do for you.

When I asked Noah if he had feelings about Father's Day, he looked at me blankly. "I'm not a dad, but I would like to be one day." Simple. Logical. Sans emotional charge. Is that because my husband has the emotional range of a Banana Slug or is that because men experience all this differently? Or that perhaps societal norms don't leave much space for men going through infertility to experience or express the same full range of emotions that many women do?

I think it's only fair that men also have the chance to grieve and feel frustrated and sad. Noah spends 99% of his efforts making sure I'm ok, maybe I should check in with him a little more often. 90-10 split seems about right.

June 14, 2013

I'm going back to see the Doc today to start this whole shebang all over again. Granted, it will be a little different this time having my sister on board, but it's the same set of fears and freak outs, though this time around I know what to expect. And when you know what to expect, or expect to not know what to expect, you can surrender a little easier to the process of whatever happens happens. Though I'm a seasoned veteran, I'm still really anxious.

I was looking back at some footage and realized how traumatic this whole process can really be. Even in moments of feeling hopeful and calm and accepting about this whole ordeal, I know I carry with me all the past disappointments and sadness. When I watch this stuff back I can't believe we lived through all this, and that I can be sitting here, smiling after a yoga class, writing about how things can get really rough but does make you stronger.

This video clip is from Thanksgiving day last year. We were midway through injections, coming in for an ultrasound to check on the follicle progress, when we got bad new that my follicles weren't developing as hoped. You can read the post about this day here and/or watch below. Happy Friday!

June 12, 2013

I can never not be disappointed when my Aunt Flow comes to town. I've gotten used to the anxious anticipation of the days before, and have gotten my "please let this just be it" plead to the universe down pat. But it always just feels like another slap in the face when I get my period.

Even though we have a solid plan with my sister, this month was no exception. Actually, there was an exception. My period came a week late. On the last month of Noah and I trying naturally before I give up my biology completely to go through another round of IVF with my sister, my period comes a WEEK LATE? Seriously!? If that's not a slap in the face I don't know what is.

I peed through several pregnancy tests and went through all the feelings of wondering, hoping, praying, thinking this was it, trying to talk myself out of being excited, planning how I was going to tell my dad on father's day that he was going to be a grandpa, thinking about what an amazing miracle it would be if I were just FINALLY pregnant and we wouldn't have to go through all that is yet to come...

But no. This wasn't it. No miracle. Just a cruel joke is what it feels like. There is no way around these feelings and thoughts--well no way for me to get around them. I'm always hopeful and sometimes miracles do happen. Just not today I guess. But the baby that is meant to be mine will be, and I remind myself of what I do have-- an awesome sister and a supportive husband and loving parents...and we move on.

I'm going to see the Doc later this week and will start birth control, so this is REALLY happening. Though it is something we've talked a lot about and planned for, the reality feels scary again.

When I was a kid I used to visit my family in New York almost every summer. Hana and I would stay with my Aunt Roberta, Uncle Ethan and cousin Zach in Brooklyn and then the kids would head out to Jericho, Long Island to visit Grandma and Grandpa where we’d catch fireflies and listen to my Grandpa tell the same story of Jack and the Beanstalk while the room fan buzzed behind his head, because it was the only children’s story he knew.

And every year we made the same pilgrimage to Coney Island, where we’d get a Nathan’s hotdog and ice cream cone, pay $2 to walk through the freak show where strange fetuses floated in formaldehyde jars and women with beards read tarot cards. Then we’d get in line to ride the Cyclone roller coaster where I’d start breaking out into a sweat and my aunt would tell me to “relax.” Hana got lucky. She was too short to ride. Aunt Roberta and Zach tried to convince me that the Cyclone was the best part of Coney Island. That it was an awesome thrill and that I’d regret it if I stayed behind like a baby.

I hated the Cyclone. In fact, I hated Coney Island. It took a really long time to get there on the subway, it was dirty and I was always afraid someone would kidnap me while my aunt was distracted taking pictures. I was a very practical, slightly curmudgeonly, highly anxious child. For me, the Cyclone was the absolute worst, and the fact that my older cousin Zach LOVED it and could ride it ten times in a row made it that much worse for me.

The Cyclone was built in 1927 and though it hardly compares to some of the newer, sleeker, faster rides at Disneyland or Magic Mountain, it is definitely one of the scariest. Its age makes it more terrifying as the old carts speed along over a rickety wooden track. Up and down, up and down, crack, crack, crack. You’re up in the air one moment, anticipating a plummeting death, then you’re zooming down listening to the sound of wood splintering and giving way beneath you.

I don’t understand why people like to be scared. Why the feeling of a hollow stomach and butterflies with tourettes in the pit of your soul brings some children pleasure. I just don’t relate.

Now, over 20 years later, I’ve been thinking of The Cyclone. I’ve been thinking about how this adventure through infertility is like an emotional roller coaster, but not just any roller coaster. It’s The Cyclone.

There are some moments where I’m feeling brave, and ready to take on whatever lies ahead of me. I can remind myself that this is my process and whatever happens will happen and the baby that’s meant to be mine will be mine. I’m not scared by a rickety old track and I have confidence that wherever I go, whatever happens, I will be ok. I feel like that little kid, standing just over 4’ 7” in line at Coney Island, about to make her cousin proud by facing her fears. And then once I’m strapped in and I know it’s too late to turn back, I feel trapped. Trapped by my life, by my decisions and by things I cannot make decisions about. I’m angry and resentful and want to blame someone for my current predicament. I’m out of control, I have no choice, I have to go along for the ride. And then we are up, high in the sky looking out towards the beach. Everything seems small and for a moment there is a pause and it’s almost exciting and freeing. There are so many possibilities and not knowing isn’t scary. Just for that moment. Then, within a split second, I am crashing, gritting my teeth, closing my eyes, and pushing with my feet into the cart in front of me to try and calm the butterflies. I want to cry. I want out. I hate the depths that I go to and how unfair it feels that I am strapped into this awful ride. I feel a flooding of fear that I may die here. I may fly out from the safety bars and go crashing to my death below. Or my heart may explode. I have the urge to stand up and get decapitated just so I don’t have to spend another second on this stupid thing. In this stupid place. And then it evens out for a second and there is calm and clarity. I can remind myself this too shall pass and what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger and braver and whatever other clichés you want to jam into one sentence. I know if I just let go and close my eyes and concentrate on the wind in my hair and the way my cheeks are vibrating, the ease of slower curves of the track, knowing the end is near, I can feel tranquil and at peace.

I feel like I’ve been riding The Cyclone for three years. That every time there’s a chance to jump off, to just stop trying, to give up on a trying to create a family, something tells me I need to just hang in there. Something tells me to sit my ass back down and prepare however I can for the ups and downs. My ride isn’t over yet. I have to hang in there and be present. When it feels crappy, it’s just going to feel crappy, but it will pass. And when it feels exciting and light and fun, it’s a fleeting moment, I can’t get too attached to it. The ups and downs are normal. And though I can anticipate them, I’m never fully prepared. I’m constantly caught off guard by the intensity of my feelings, and then I’m pleasantly surprised at how I handle a specific challenging situation.

I get nervous when I feel okay now. Like I'm at a good point, and then I'm going to come crashing down. But I think I feel okay because I've learned to just ride it. I have confidence in the end result, and after all we've been through already I also have confidence that we can survive knowing one day this ride will be over.

June 10, 2013

I've felt a serious shift in the last few weeks, or specifically the weeks following that adoption meeting. It's like I suddenly know everything is going to be alright. Noah says it to me all the time, and while I've always kind of believed him, I now know it to be true. Babies exist. And I can get one. The end. I would highly recommend to anyone going through infertility to go to different adoption agencies in your area just to check them out. Even if you're not ready for it, even if you're not there yet. If adopting is an option for you then it doesn't hurt to check out. I wish I would have done this years ago just to have a sense of calm that even if my body completely fails me I can still have a family.

The other thing I would highly recommend if the expense of infertility is a struggle, is to look into and apply for grants. I did this several months ago and we just found out we are recipients of a grant from Baby Quest Foundation http://www.babyquestfoundation.org that will help cover some of the cost of our next IVF procedure. Baby Quest Foundation is founded by an amazing mother-daughter duo who really want to help lessen the financial burden of family building and allow people who normally could not do so to access treatments. Finding out that we have some financial support from Baby Quest has been such a sigh of relief for us. A few other foundations that award grants I have recently learned about are: http://mavericksmiraclebabies.org and http://www.parenthoodforme.org

The third thing I would recommend is to find something else, preferably physical, to immerse yourself in. Infertilty is all consuming and it really impacts your mind, body, and spirit. My relationship with my body has been not good for the past year. I've been angry at it for not working right, and now it is angry at me for jamming hormones into it and feeding it junk food. I decided to sign up for a yoga teacher training with one of my favorite teachers Ally Hamilton, founder of Yogis Anonymous in Santa Monica http://yogisanonymous.com. After my first three days of training I feel better than I have in the past year. More on yoga in the coming weeks.

There are tons of other self care tools and things to do to distract yourself or make yourself laugh, but these three things I realized have really REALLY helped me survive this rough time.

June 07, 2013

I find that the best way to cope with the ups and downs of infertility is to have a plan, and then a back up plan. Every decision and option is a compromise so you've got to go with that feels the best in a given moment, and then have the runner up choice in your back pocket.

This week, I've gotten a lot more comfortable with our runner up choice, which is adoption. I tired to change my perspective from one of fear (what if the birth mom changes her mind last minute?) to one of optimism and openness to whatever child comes into our lives. So much of my life and the decisions we've had to make are fear based, it feels good to make that shift. But it takes some time to come to terms and Noah and I don't always arrive at the same decision at the same time. But the more we talk about it and think about it, the more comfortable we both are. By yesterday Noah seemed more on board with the back up plan.

But our first choice is still to try and preserve our biology and have the experience of being pregnant through my sister donating her eggs. It's been a struggle for all of us in my family, especially as we learn more, both positive and negative experiences, about the donor egg process and the risks. This was a decision my sister needed to come to on her own, and yesterday, after much deliberation, she did. She said yes. She said she weighed the risks and potential benefit of helping us bring a life into the world and decided it was something she wanted to do. My heart sank when she told me. Her voice sounded sure, but we were both at work and didn't have much time to talk. I worry that her mind may still fluctuate or that this decision will weigh on her for a long time. But I have to respect that she is a grown up and able to make decisions for herself. It's an amazing sacrifice and Noah and I feel so lucky.

Here is a clip of us talking about our plans and our lives at this moment in time. While we continue to muscle through life as an infertile couple, it doesn't seem as dire. Perhaps that's because we have a plan.

June 04, 2013

With Hana still debating her final answer about donating eggs, I felt I needed to seek information about our other choices. When we started this assisted baby making process we had a number of options, and as we tried different interventions, many of those choices got crossed off the list. We are officially at the end of our list. The last two choices we have if Hana decides she doesn't want to be harvested for parts (just kidding, that sounds awful) are an anonymous donor egg or adoption. A pro-con decision tree about these two choices will come later in the week, for now I'm going to focus on adoption.

On Saturday we went to an adoptions seminar at the Independent Adoptions Center (IAC) http://www.adoptionhelp.org in Los Angeles. It wasn't our first time at one of these meetings, but it was the first time we felt like we belonged, or that we could belong. The process of an "open adoption"was explained well. It starts with a home study and various clearances/paperwork, then we make a "Dear Birth Mother" letter, which is basically an advertisement of us as a couple, and we begin the process of getting matched with a pregnant woman, then that woman gives birth, gives us the baby, and then there's a handful of legal stuff. Sounds simple, right? It is most definitely not simple, but it is doable. There are counselors to hold our hand along the way and if we have the attitude that whatever baby is meant to be our baby will be, then in an average of 15 months, we will be parents.

Oh, and we will also have an on going relationship with the child's birth mother, as that is what an "open adoption" means. We can see it as a pain in the ass or an opportunity to have a new extended family, however we see it that's what it is at this place, and many other agencies, as research now suggests "open adoptions" are better for all parties involved, especially the child. Fine. Whatever.

Exhale.

There are a lot of things to worry about with adopting a child. But there are a lot of thing to worry about with having a child, period. What I came away with on Saturday is that while it may be a long, invasive, expensive, exhausting process, we will get a baby. 100% guaranteed.

Noah and I have been talking about our last two choices a lot. He is still very tied to his biology, and rightfully so, he is quite a good looking guy if I do say so myself. He snapped at me that I seemed to be leaning towards whatever was the fastest way to get a baby, and while it sounds kind of terrible to admit, that's exactly what I'm doing. I want out of this nightmare and into a new nightmare of parenting. Is that so bad?

We may not both be there yet when it comes to adoption. We will continue to wait for Hana's final answer and then we will reassess and move on.

June 03, 2013

My sister is having cold feet. After speaking with the doctor and doing some research, she is afraid not so much of the known risks of egg donation; hyperstimulating, rare complications from the procedure, feeling bloated etc., but of the somewhat unknown risks to her own potential fertility. My sister is younger and does not yet have kids. There are no long term studies of egg donors and while the doctor assures us that her fertility shouldn't be at risk, there is still a lot that is unknown. And that's scary.

It is my understanding that when a donor gives eggs, she is essentially giving the cohort of eggs that are currently in her ovaries on a given month. Medication is given to grow as many follicles at one time, and then they are removed. This should not affect the ovarian reserve of the donor. But who really knows the effect of the medications long term, or the result of stretching out the ovary or poking it with a needle to extract the eggs. It would be a really hard thing to study, I suppose. A woman can be infertile after donating eggs because she is simply older, or she could have problems with her fallopian tubes, which is unrelated to the ovaries. It would be hard to know what caused what, unless there was a clear correlation between donors and infertility. The best we can offer is to freeze some of Hana's eggs for herself as back up, just in case.

Since we began this journey, my family has been joking about me harvesting Hana for her eggs, but now that this is not only a reality but one of our only viable options, no one is laughing anymore. And it's become a stressful issue to my entire family. My dad struggles with knowing how to be involved, and understandably is overwhelmed with the thought that what could help one of his daughters have a baby and move on with her life could potentially put his other daughter at risk. My sister is stressed out. She wants to help us so badly, and I know that in her heart, but she doesn't want something bad to happen to her. She doesn't want to not be able to have her own kids one day, and she doesn't want to feel worried about it for the years until she starts trying to have her own kids. I'm stressed out that I've put my family in this situation. I've spent much of my life as the older sister protecting Hana from bad things, and here I am asking something of her that is causing her anguish and anxiety.

But what choices do we have? Noah and I are often in a position of making the best worst choice. We have to constantly weigh the risk and benefits and costs of a given option, make a choice, and move forward. Our choices thus far have led us no closer to having a family, yet I don't regret what we've tried. This experience has taught me to make a decision and stick with it. I am angry when it doesn't work out, but not regretful.

My sister has to either get to that point, where she is fully on board with no regrets, or she has to tell us she doesn't want to do it and we will respect that decision. We aren't asking to borrow a DVD, we're asking for a big part of her, and we very much know that.

So we wait. As we have done now in various ways for years. I will continue to look into other options and we will see how all this pans out.